omething unexpected is about to happen in Lahore. Basant, the spring festival that once defined February in this city, is likely to return this year after a gap of decades. According to reports doing the rounds, the Punjab government is preparing to issue an ordinance allowing the festival to be held in the first week of February, under a set of strict conditions. For a city that has learnt to live without it, the news has landed somewhere between disbelief and cautious hope.

Basant was banned many years ago, officially on safety grounds. The kite string used during the festival had become increasingly dangerous, often coated with glass or metal powder. Serious injuries were reported and, in some cases, the consequences were fatal. Motorcyclists were particularly vulnerable; the string could slash the throat without warning. As accidents mounted, public pressure grew and the state responded with an outright ban. Over time, Basant disappeared not only from the calendar but also from public memory, surviving mainly as a subject of nostalgia and argument.

Yet Basant was never just a Lahore festival, even though Lahore became its most visible stage. It was celebrated across the subcontinent. When I was growing up in the 1950s and ’60s, the two most important centres were Lahore and Kasur. The festivals were held on different days, allowing serious kite flyers to attend both. Gradually, other cities in the Punjab joined in. Smaller towns and villages followed. What had once been local became widely shared. By the 1970s and ’80s, Basant had become one of the most anticipated events of the year.

By the 1990s, the character of the festival had changed. Night-time Basant began to dominate the activity. Kite flying was highlighted by floodlights; daytime activity slowed until late afternoon. The older idea of beginning at dawn and ending at sunset was gradually abandoned. Wealthier participants rented rooftops, particularly in the Walled City, and turned the festival into an all-night affair. The city adapted itself to this new rhythm, though not without consequences.

Basant has always been associated with colour. Yellow, saffron and orange dominated clothing and decoration. Women, in particular, dressed for the occasion, matching dupattas and outfits to the season. Rooftops were decorated; food was prepared; and music played.

The fear is that enthusiasm could once again outpace caution.

In classical music, ragas associated with bahar and basant are traditionally sung during this period. Their imagery is rooted in renewal — blooming flowers, birds calling, the onset of fertility after winter. Basant was never only about kites; it was about marking a seasonal shift that mattered to everyday life.

The festival as long cultural history. It was celebrated at shrines around Delhi, with compositions attributed to Amir Khusro. Nazir Akbarabadi wrote about kite flying in Lucknow with evident delight. These references matter because they show Basant as part of a broader cultural continuum, not an invention of modern Lahore.

This history, however, did not protect the festival from controversy. A vocal lobby has long argued that Basant is un-Islamic, pointing to its pre-Muslim origins. Over the years, calls for a permanent ban have framed the festival as alien, frivolous or morally suspect. Those who argue for a cultural identity linked to land and tradition have often been dismissed as indulgent or unorthodox. In that context, the government’s apparent willingness to restore Basant, even conditionally, is notable. It suggests a shift — or at least a pause — in how culture is being managed.

That said, no one can ignore the reasons for the original ban. The hazards were real. If Basant returns, it cannot do so in the form it had taken before it was stopped. Regulation of kite string, enforcement on rooftops, and public cooperation will determine whether the festival can exist safely. Lahore has a habit of excess. It often pushes celebrations beyond reasonable limits, sometimes with tragic results. The fear is that enthusiasm could once again outpace caution.

There is also the question of scale. Will Basant be allowed as a controlled cultural event, or will it slide back into a citywide free-for-all? The reports so far suggest restrictions, but enforcement remains an open question. The success or failure of this experiment will depend as much on public behaviour as on official planning.

For many Lahoris, the possible return of Basant is less about kite flying and more about reclaiming a part of the city’s cultural life that vanished without ceremony. Its absence left February oddly empty. Spring arrived, but without acknowledgement. Restoring Basant, even in a limited form, is an attempt to reconnect with that lost rhythm.

Whether the city is ready for that responsibility remains uncertain. But the fact that the conversation has reopened at all is significant. It suggests that not everything lost is beyond recovery, provided people learn not to destroy what they claim to love.

The writer is a Lahore-based culture critic.